The Clearing
by SeungSeiRan
Summary: It takes time to see yourself in the eyes of a complete stranger. Tifa-centric, with a dash of Cissnei.


**Had this idea in my head for a while now. About time I got it out... not yuri or shoujo-ai but you're free to interpret it as you wish.**

**Disclaimer:**** I do not own the characters of Final Fantasy VII and neither am I writing this to earn profit.**

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Tifa heard nothing but the sounds of cutlery clinking and voices murmuring over each other that night. Another dull, uneventful night meant a good day at work for her. What more could she ask for? The years had passed, the battles had been won, the comrades had been reluctantly bidden farewell to. Some permanent, others not quite so. Her battle gloves now lay dusty and worn beneath layers of clothing in a drawer as did a certain photograph of two SOLDIERs and a girl. Try as she might, she'd never quite summoned the strength to cast them aside, useless fragments of pain as they were. Time had worn on and they'd assimilated into her system. They were a part of her now... which made it all the more unbearable.

But Tifa had never been one to complain. The modest, unwavering cloak of the warrior suited her well and she had learned to wear it humbly. Two years later, she'd come to unexpectedly fill the shoes of a foster mother as well. Death, destruction, violence, regret, and remorse were mountains that she'd crawled through with patience and a quiet hope that transcended her years. In the end, she'd pulled through bruised, battered, and stronger.

Age eight, the loss of a mother, the gaining of a new bond with the mysterious lad known as Cloud Strife.

Age fourteen, the strengthening of the bond and the promise that would eventually tie them together.

Age fifteen, a stranger's arrival, the upending of her life.

Eight years on, life streams ahead at a breakneck heartrending pace, pausing only for moments which she'd wasted away in another's shadow. What once was love had died with Aerith and, unlike the Cetra girl's spirit, it had ceased to linger. Tifa had already relinquished her fate in its return long ago and resigned herself to merely existing in the secret world of the blue-eyed swordsman. She'd cried, bled out the hurt she'd carried inside for years, and then cleansed the wounds dry. Here they still remained, wrapped up inside her locked heart.

And she still sighed as she wiped clean another soiled mug. She still looked up and watched the outsiders live their lives far away from the turmoil she'd fought for them. Staring through the pyramid of bright, clear glasses, the stoic and steady barmaid eyed the convex distortions of limbs, hair, and clothes. It seemed that Denzel and Marlene were quickly becoming adept at their cleaning chores. She should feel so proud she'd practically raised them both... and yet...

A dark lock of long hair slid out from behind her ear as she shook her head. They'd missed a spot... just a little one...

Glass and rag in hand, she took to pacing the floor behind the counter again. Perhaps it would do her some good if a brawl broke out... it'd keep her occupied, if only for a few minutes...

"Boredom."

She looked down at the speaker sitting across from her on the other side of the counter. A woman, auburn waves of hair touching her shoulders, a Turk. The sharp black suit said it all. Although Tifa had known of and encountered many a female Turk in her past few experiences, she'd never had one venture into her own turf. How ironic, she couldn't help smiling to herself, it was usually the other way round.

"How did you guess?"

The woman appeared to contemplate for a few seconds before answering, "Pacing continuously in a particular area indicates restlessness. On the other hand, the constant cleaning habits you affect seem to imply a sense of... routine, perhaps?"

"Possibly."

"Or purpose?"

Tifa winced at the simpering harshness behind the word. Choosing to avert her eyes as an answer, she set the glass in its place on the gleaming pyramid. What else could you expect from one of their kind but all analysis and no empathy? A minuscule drop of water on the table somehow managed to squeeze itself directly into her path of vision forcing her to immediately dab it from view. Searching for more slight imperfections in the thin cracks of the walls, she had to begrudgingly admit that the Turk was right.

A few minutes later, she caught a glimpse of surprise in the other woman's eyes as she placed a short glass mug of amber liquid before her. She dourly explained, "Congrats, you got me." before turning to survey the rest of her patrons for tonight. As always, they were absorbed in their own talk over home burglaries and nagging wives awaiting their returns. In other words, 'routine' as things could get. The only one closest to stone drunk was nodding off into his cradled arms. By comparison, her friend Cid Highwind and the red-haired Turk Reno were infinitely more interesting when inebriated. Tifa rubbed the impending sleep from her eyes and turned to check on the female Turk. She blinked twice before actually believing what she saw.

The drink remained untouched.

Careful as to not let the surprise show on her face, Tifa went through a list of probable theories which would prevent any Turk entering a bar from drinking. Perhaps a covert undercover investigation wherein one had to remain sober for the entire time period. If so, why not send someone less likely to get wasted after a few drinks like Rude rather than a rookie who obviously couldn't seem to hold her alcohol? Then again, maybe the woman feared the whiskey was laced with some sort of poisonous drug native to Nibelheim -

"I don't drink."

"... Alright."

Tifa proceeded to calmly and efficiently sweep the intact glass from the gaze of her nonchalant customer. Of course, how silly of her, the woman obviously didn't drink. She was most likely here for an observation... so why didn't that sound right?

"So what's the point of coming here?" she asked, instantly feeling foolish.

With a shift of her soft curls, the Turk bowed her head low in deep thought. The further embarrassed barmaid decided to lay the matter to rest and take care of other more important matters... like that speck of dirt on that leftover fork. As she rubbed away at the make-believe stain on the metal, the twisted image of herself revealed itself in the clarity. Slightly perturbed at the sight, she gave the harmless utensil one last swipe before tucking it safe for the night in a container with others of its kind. Remembering time, she dealt a swift glance at the wall clock. Half past eleven, less than thirty minutes to midnight the witching hour. She'd forgotten who'd told her that as a child but it had been a time when she'd believed in the power of magic and miracles...

"I came here to be alone."

"Alone?" That didn't ring right in Tifa's head. "Here? You're surrounded here."

_By all possible dregs of society which you're supposed to look down upon_, she added silently to herself.

"I came here for the quiet."

"... Really?"

Fine then... all Shinra bodyguards were certified nutcases. She could certainly affirm that now.

"It... takes it away." The ending was abrupt and the woman tightened her lips when she was done. Tifa dared not ask what for fear of confirming what she'd already begun to suspect. Instead, she continued her vigil at the counter, waiting, wondering, and trying not to think. Waiting for Cloud to come around, wondering if indeed he'd ever come around, and trying not to think about what she'd done wrong.

Then again... nothing much to lose for the moment.

"Do you have a name?"

"... You may call me Cissnei if you like."

"Cissnei..." Interesting choice of name there. "Tifa."

She kept her last name secret on purpose even though Shinra may already keep a file on her at their headquarters.

"How long's it been since you were with the Turks?"

Cissnei lifted her right hand and propped her head up on it. "A while. Maybe around nine years."

Nine years ago, Tifa had started lessons in martial arts with Zangan as well as getting her head around the various odds and ends of running a household, fulfilling the place of her late mother. Both had been physically taxing in more ways than one. It must have been the same for training in the Turks, maybe even more so when the sheer brutality of their methods were taken into account. Three years and counting but she still hadn't forgotten that.

"Can I ask you a question?" Cissnei spoke up.

"... Depends."

"You may not like hearing it."

Tifa shrugged. "I'm sure I'll get over it."

She was met with a direct stare to the eye. "So you've been through worse."

"I suppose..."

Her gaze never wavered, never faltered. "Does it continue?"

"Continue? Everything continues. Life goes on, nothing ever stops. And me? I just go where the tide takes me... it's not like I can stop it."

Tifa broke the gaze to whip around and wipe the repressed tears from her eyes. It had been a long time since she'd shed a tear and she definitely didn't want to burst into a fresh batch at this very moment. She was pleasantly surprised that Cissnei didn't make any attempt to console or sympathize with her. In this case, she didn't need it exactly... she already knew what she felt and how she was supposed to fix this...

"Sorry... I don't need your sympathy..."

"I know that... you'll live..."

Cissnei's hands lay folded on the counter, inanimate and limp at the last sentence she'd spoken. "What is life for but living?"

"To look out for others that don't know that."

The auburn-haired woman smiled and said nothing. A breath later, the smile had disappeared. Anyway, Tifa had seen enough to recall traces of her own abandonment by another blue-eyed boy for a girl less closer to home than her. This time, she refused to cast her glance aside.

"He won't be coming back. That's for sure..."

"At least he's alive. Despite years of suffering, he remains safe."

"Safe doesn't make you happy, Cissnei. Staying alive can be a death sentence of sorts."

All she did was nod once. The minute hand on the clock crept past and the customers began to trickle out. The transpiration of certain events had resulted in a temporary midnight curfew for all working establishments.

"May I ask _you _a question?"

Cissnei was on the verge of standing up when she momentarily stiffened in her place. "Go ahead."

"How does it feel in that?"

Brown eyes glanced down at the suit that put her in league with a coterie of men and at the same time downgraded her natural femininity. "A bit stiff when I first started out. It gets a bit hot in summer too but I live with it."

"Couldn't you take it off if you wanted?"

"I can't even if I tried... it's a part of me now."

With that, she took her leave. "Goodnight, Tifa."

As the door shut behind her, the reply came. "And good luck to you too, Cissnei."


End file.
